


Beautifully Tragic (Tragically Beautiful)

by MariaMediaOverThere



Series: Unravelled For You [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, Ciao ciao is everyone's Dad, Jealousy, M/M, everyone loves phichit, jj is a wingman, things get steamy in chapter 2 as usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10035254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaMediaOverThere/pseuds/MariaMediaOverThere
Summary: Seung-Gil is mad that Phichit is too beautiful.What now?





	1. Icarus

If this were a Greek tragedy, Seung-Gil would be Icarus—a gayer Icarus who got too close to the lights in Phichit Chulanont’s eyes and fell.

 

 

But you know what, although not Greek, this is, in Seung-Gil’s humble opinion, a **TRAGEDY**.

 

 

This he thinks as Phichit chats excitedly to a photographer who came around to perform test shots. She laughed heartily at something the Thai had said (of course), twirling her blonde hair between two fingers.

She points to her camera and, even from here on the far side of the rink, Seung-Gil can see Phichit reverberate with enthusiasm. He skates back and strikes a cool pose to the photographer’s delight.

 

 

 **Of course** she’s delighted to be in Phichit’s presence.

 

 

 

Who could deny Phichit?

 

Belatedly, Seung-Gil realizes that if Phichit’s warmth and attractiveness broke down his stoic and deadbeat self of all people, the Thai must have caught the attention of others as well.

 

 

Mr. Steal-Your-Bae skates closer to the photographer to see her shot; he claps and coos and compliments because he’s polite and wonderful like that.

The blonde bushes from flattery and rests her elbow on the dividers of the rink- enchanted by the skater in front of her.

 

 

 

Although at first disgusted, Seung-Gil wonders if he could ever impress Phichit like that.

 

Biting his inner-cheek, the Korean turns away and exits the rink before he can follow down this foolish train of thought.

He may have an aversion to women, but he’s not going to condemn this innocent lady to his wrath just because Phichit just so happens to be lovable to everyone.

 

If Seung-Gil hated everyone who’s ever shown interest in his… boyfriend… then there’d be a long list of people in his blacklist.

 

 

 

Sparing one last backwards to glance to see the blonde picking up her equipment (with Phichit helping **of course** ), he goes to his dorm room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was the cashier with the braces who held Phichit’s hand too long while he gave him (exact) payment for the sports drinks they had bought in the convenience store nearby.

 

 

There was that random lady who stopped Phichit in the middle of the pedestrian crossing to tell him that his eyeliner looked flawless.

Phichit beamed and said the way her dreadlocks were styled brought out her sleek jawline. Justly so, she got flustered and almost got caught still on the street when the traffic light turned green.

 

 

There was that waiter at the local Singaporean restaurant who unabashedly left their number on a napkin they offered Phichit at the same time they set their lunch’s bill down on the table.

Phichit, considerate fucker he is, glanced at Seung-Gil sheepishly and pretended not to notice the slip of paper.

 

What a piece of shit.

 

 

_Haha, piece-shit. Phichit._

 

 

Seung-Gil’s kinda-smile dies down immediately as he recalls the most recent member of his not-really-but-also-blacklist:

 

 

 

 

 

 

_JJ._

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seung-Gil dresses down in, what can only be described, as the angriest manner possible.

 

The cool air hitting his hot skin relaxes him for only a split second.

He can’t stay pathetic like this- hung up over his… boyfriend of sorts.

 

…Especially not with an egotistical Canadian in the premise.

 

 

Leroy had been hounding Seung-Gil since their **junior** days, for fuck’s sake.

He’d lightened up his showy attitude and relentless taunting after Isabella (the poor soul) came into his life. But still, he’d still give the regular cocky remark about his South Korean skating competitor now and again; sometimes Twitter, sometimes on interviews.

 

 

 

For a time being, the skating fans had a theory that there was something more to JJ’s constant namedrop and provocation.

 

But nope,

 

He just likes to pick on the funny weird kid.

 

 

 

 

 

**_Christ._ **

 

If he found out Seung-Gil had a boyfriend now, there’d be no telling what kind of torture he’d brew up.

Leroy would probably scale Everest just to shout to the world how Seung-Gil finally came around.

 

What an asshole.

 

 

 

 

Seung-Gil’s thoughts caught up to him. He realized he’s been glaring at his bedpost in half a state of undress. He exhales forcefully, trying to will his nerves away.

 

 

Saying—even just _thinking_ that Phichit is his boyfriend makes his breath catch.

There must be some kind of fluke.

 

A space.

 

Boy (space) friend.

 

A friend who is male.

 

 

 

But no, Phichit was explicit (in more ways than one) that night.

 

The term of endearment is so foreign to the Korean. He’s someone’s **_boyfriend_**. That’s a responsibility he felt like he isn’t… or ever will be… ready to carry.

 

He’s going to be depended on!

To give affection!

 

 

Somewhere out there, Sara Crispino is laughing at how impossibly ridiculous his circumstance is.

 

 

 

 

Damn his promise, honestly.

 

Elaborating the sensations that push against Seung-Gil’s ribcage whenever Phichit looks at him will push him into an early grave.

 

 

 _Tragic_ , Seung-Gil thinks it would be to die because his boyfriend is just too beautiful that he can’t handle it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, he neglects opening his phone.

 

The husky-themed phone case, face down, judges Seung-Gil from where it lays on his desk next to some notebooks and 1/3 of a mountain dew.

 

 

He knows- just **_knows_** that Phichit had probably texted him since yesterday afternoon, inquiring about his whereabouts.

 

 

However, the Thai skater understands that Seung-Gil can be possessive of his personal space.

He probably eventually figured out that the Korean was holed up in his room, but thought against bothering him lest he interrupt his private hours.

 

Seung-Gil appreciates it greatly; but he can’t find an opportunity to bring it up, considering it’s just something Phichit did without prior notice.

 

 

 

 

 

Pulling a cool gray sweatshirt over his head, Seung-Gil forlornly curses himself for being so emotionally constipated. He could just say “thank you”, but then he’d have to elaborate for what, and why, and how he noticed, and more questions that require emotional expression.

 

 

 

How peculiar for the introvert and the extrovert to be together.

“Together” being used loosely.

 

At the moment, Seung-Gil was alone with his scowl.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To no one’s surprise, JJ and Phichit were together that morning.

 

This was because JJ was… a little too much for the average person to spend more than 4 minutes with. It takes someone with god-like patience and empathy to vibe with him.

Hence, Phichit.

 

 

Leo would sometimes come around, friendly as he is, but he’s a little reserved and JJ’s prying nature tended to conflict with that.

The Mexican-American would politely excuse himself often, put his earphones on, and shut the world off.

 

 

Seung-Gil can relate.

 

 

But he’s _special_ in JJ’s eyes- a black-haired target.

JJ would usually smile and wave to anyone who needed privacy, but does he do that for Seung-Gil?

 

Nope.

 

The Canadian would practically battering-ram down Seung-Gil’s walls (mentally and physically) to get a crack in.

 

 

 

 

Damn Celestino for being such a Dad™.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leroy had explained that he needed to come to the area for a sportswear deal and wanted to meet up with his former-coach Ciao Ciao.

 

Yet, the Italian had urged his old student to spend a few days to catch up with him and his new students.

 

 

A lot of the juniors (for whatever reason) looked up to him. So much so, the kids tended to refer to him as The King unironically- which is more than can be said about most of the senior skaters.

 

 

 

The seniors would usually arrive earlier than the juniors since they have stricter training rituals. Thus, whenever Leroy wasn’t being bombarded by misinformed children, he was getting all friendly with Phichit Chulanont.

 

 

 

Because, **of course**.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now you’d think, due to the exposure day in and day out of people just being captivated by Phichit, Seung-Gil would get used to it.

 

That’s almost always the case.

 

 

 

Almost

 

 

 

Because (according to the Neurogenetics department at the University of Tennessee Health Science Center) the human body has 95 to 100 billion nerves (excluding those in the brain)… and JJ seems to get on every one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Seung-Gil!” Phichit greeted with a big wave of his hand and a cheery grin.

 

The Korean could practically hear the sound of JJ’s head snapping as the Canadian looked behind him. He had a devious gleam in his eyes, regardless of his happy-go-lucky smile.

 

“Hey hey hey, bed head~ It’s about time you showed up.”

 

 

Self-consciously, Seung-Gil patted down his mop of hair before grumbling a “hello, Phichit” and pointedly ignoring the Canadian.

 

 

JJ pouted dramatically before gliding forward to sling an arm around Seung-Gil. “So hey, Phich and I were just discussing some techniques here. It’s always good to learn from your fellow competitors,” he reaches an index finger to his face and lightly taps Seung-Gil’s nose, “I can’t have a break even on vacation!”

 

 

 

 

A couple of things wrong with what just happened:

 

  1. JJ apparently has a nickname for Phichit. _‘Phich’_ of all things.
  2. JJ has an arm lazily thrown across his already-sore shoulders.
  3. JJ just booped his nose.
  4. _Phich_???
  5. JJ thought his last bit was funny.
  6. Phichit did too, apparently, considering the cute little wrinkles at the corner of his gray eyes.
  7. JJ’s still making bodily contact.
  8. _Phich ?!?!?! Really??_



 

 

 

Huffing, Seung-Gil pinched Leroy’s sleeve like it was soiled with the unholiness of the world, and threw his arm back at him and off his person. “So?”

 

“So,” JJ rolled his eyes with a flippant smirk, “we’re going to come back to the ice rink after hours to give each other some one-on-one…-on-one practice!”

 

Those thick shaped eyebrows furrowed- “Celes—“

 

“Ciao Ciao gave his blessings!” Phichit piped up from where he stood watching the display in front of him fondly. The Thai leaned forward, letting his skates bring him close to the other men. “He’s happy we’re such good sports.”

 

 

 

Ah, damn Celestino for caving, Seung-Gil curses inwardly. (But if he were honest, it’s not like he’d fare any better under the puppy eyes Phichit is capable of)

 

The coach gets so giddy when he sees his students getting along. Same went for Phichit and Yuuri in a time before Viktor’s convoluted booty-chasing.

 

The Italian man’s incessant encouragement for them to get along was probably the foundation of their now-lifelong companionship.

 

 

In some way, Celestino was a kindergarten teacher who stands back, watching young friendship unfold between his toddlers.

It was sickeningly domestic—especially compared to Min-So Park’s passivity in regards to Seung-Gil being a loner.

 

 

But despite Celestino’s best efforts (and even if Seung-Gil can afford to be surprisingly polite towards the press instead of flipping them off,) Seung-Gil is still, in fact, a loner.

 

 

 

 

He replies a bitter-laced “No thank you.”

The Korean trains his face to match his disinterest (which isn’t difficult considering that’s how he is by default).

 

Still, he takes special precaution—knowing how much he’s been weakened for Phichit’s requests.

He doesn’t want to give Leroy any incentive to think that he has a soft spot for the Thai; who knows what he’d be able to figure out.

Yet, if Phichit’s face falling is any indication, that bitter tone was a tad too biter.

 

Seung-Gil backtracks by impulse (he has a conscience, for fuck’s sake), “But I mean—“

 

 

“Ah, see? I told you, Phich.” JJ butts in, a pout gracing his lips, “Seung-Gil doesn’t care.”

 

 

With a casual ease, the 19-year-old moves closer to the Thai, “Don’t worry! You and I’ll have fun by ourselves tonight anyways—probably more!”

 

 

Seung-Gil scowls so hard that he can feel his abs clench from the effort. It’s a stark juxtaposition from the beam on JJ’s face as he slings his arm around Phichit’s shoulders.

 

 

 

If feelings had colors, it was muted red and now it’s black.

 

 

Seung-Gil angrily lunges forward and skates through the pair, pushing them apart and away.

He feels his elbow connect to Phichit’s side, followed by a dull thud on the ice below their feet.

 

But anger is deafening. Pride even more so.

 

 

 

 

Seung-Gil does not turn back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vanitas: a manifestation of the transience of life and the worthlessness nature of all earthly goods and pursuits.

 

 

By that logic, the scene Seung-Gil watched play out before he left the rink for his lunch break is the magnum opus of the entire vanitas painting genre.

 

 

 

Everyone knows Phichit is short for his age. He’s a couple months younger than Seung-Gil himself, and a good 2 or 3 inches farther from the sky.

Next to him, JJ holds his elbows to keep him upright. There’s a leg nudging behind Phichit’s, willing him to bend it and strike a pose.

 

Seung-Gil recognizes that stance as a precursor to one of the lunge-spread eagle transitions Leroy was so fond of from the GPF before last.

 

For no reason whatsoever could Seung-Gil fathom why you would ever teach a competitor your personal moves. Sure—helping them land nicely was just all in camaraderie, but teaching them your defining stunts was like breaking your own legs.

 

 

Nikiforov should have never taught Katsuki how to make that quad flip—especially now that he’s announcing his return to the rink.

 

 

The only possible reason to allow a competitor to have the opportunity to fuck you over, but trust them not to, was… well, friendship.

 

 

Maybe love.

 

 

 

JJ helping Phichit add stunts to his roster was intimate— a little too intimate for Seung-Gil’s liking.

But thinking about it, there might not be any level of intimacy with the Canadian he’d be fond of either, just in general.

 

…Or anyone for that matter.

 

 

Maybe even for Phichit himself.

 

 

 

 

Maybe the real self-handicap that’s being committed right now isn’t Leroy’s, Seung-Gil muses.

 

JJ is engaged (surprisingly enough), so it’s nothing that Seung-Gil thinks too hard upon. It’s not like he’s possessive of Phichit or anything—he’s barely his to have in the first place.

 

But the playing field is unmatched; JJ, for the bullshittery he pulls, is a crowd pleaser. People become enraptured by him (sometimes to win, sometimes to lose).

He makes people want to talk about him— a contrast to Seung-Gil’s aversion to general human contact.

 

Plisetsky’s _Yuuri’s Angels_ may be almost as rabid as _JJ’s girls,_ but they are alone drawn to the blonde Russian’s cuteness appeal.

 

 

With puberty coming around the corner, perhaps _Yuuri’s Angels_ may find themselves in a steep decline of membership, Seung-Gil predicts.

 

 

He’s not one to judge—he is distantly aware of the horde of fans that tail him at every competitor, major or minor.

Who knows what they see in him, to be honest.

Min-So said something about “mysterious bad boy”, to which he promptly gagged.

 

 Seung-Gil has never been anything but blunt in regards to how little he cares about the fame and glory and praise acquired from being a national sports celebrity. That of which does not even remotely correlate to a Mr. Jean-Jacques Leroy.

 

 

Who could ever bare to be with someone like him?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t try to tell him otherwise either; Seung-Gil knows.

 

He knows the way Phichit gets this dreamy look when he’s talking with (rather, at…) Seung-Gil about what Viktor and Yuuri did that his best friend gushed about on Skype.

Phichit would keep prompting Katsuki, asking what happened next and demanding details—wanting to know more, to feel as if he was in that moment.

 

 

He knows the way Phichit’s eyes become wet when he’s watching a romantic movie in the Korean’s presence. This they did even before The Confession. Phichit would gawk whenever Seung-Gil said he didn’t understand a reference, and expectedly show up at his door that night with that movie downloaded on his laptop.

Seung-Gil’s attention tended to drift off and he’d ask for a scene to be replayed; Phichit didn’t mind. What the Thai didn’t know was that he sometimes looked too long at the tan’s face and get lost for a bit. He’d acutely notice certain reactions to certain dialogues and scenes.

 

Seung-Gil can sometimes see his lips part, quietly mimicking important quotes when they are said, eyes transfixed and enraptured… and Seung-Gil is with him.

 

 

 

He knows the way Phichit looks a little too hard at couples who pass by the coffee shop they frequent at, holding hands.

Seung-Gil would entertain the idea- his eyes following the movement of Phichit’s fingers as they tap mindlessly against the table.

 

But the moment always eluded itself, as the Thai returned to checking his phone or drinking his coffee- and that once-free hand would be occupied with things that aren’t Seung-Gil’s.

 

 

 

 

There’s an ache in his chest that is only rivaled by the ache in his feet. His passive-aggressive practicing moments prior had left his feet dotted with bluish-gray marks.

 

To think Seung-Gil had made a mental note to keep himself in check and not allow himself to get injured.

 

 

 

Little memories of tan hands on bare skin, saliva-slick lips, and heated gray eyes came back to him. Seung-Gil grits his teeth in annoyance—but he’s not sure what in particular he’s annoyed about.

 

 

 

 

 

…Seung-Gil knows the way Phichit wants more from him—something more romantic, more suave…. more non-Seung-Gil-like.

 

 

 

 

He brings the water bottle that had been placed next to him to his mouth and takes tentative sips.

 

 

Unlearning can take years, even a lifetime. Why would Phichit willingly choose Seung-Gil instead of going for someone who is more… more for Phichit?

 

It’s not impossible to reinvent himself, the Korean thinks- but it won’t be natural. If anything, it would be garish and awkward and embarrassing… and Phichit will realize that he’s not what he wants.

 

 

 

The now-empty plastic in his hand crinkles under a too-tight grip.

 

 

 _Fuck this_ , Seung-Gil thinks to himself. _A waste of feelings_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh, Seung…?” JJ asks blearily; sleep is in the corner of his eyes.

The leans against his door—a spare they had in the complex, a few doors down Seung-Gil’s. “What brings you here at,” he pauses and peers over his shoulder, “11:14 at ni—“

 

“Teach me how to be seductive.”


	2. Variables

Seung-Gil developed this formula back in his junior days; he calls it the JJ Formula.

 

It's a little complex, but the gist was that every minute spent with a Mr. Jean-Jacques Leroy decreased his lifespan by an x amount of hours, but that x exponentially grows with every passing minute of exposure.

Of course, there are other variables in this equation, such as topic of conversation, dubbed "TC", which he developed a table for, each increasingly annoying topic being a larger multiplier. Same goes for time of day.

 

A late afternoon talking about skating techniques was okay.  
An early evening discussing dogs was tolerable.  
7:15AM on the topic of if Seung-Gil can share his thoughts of "which pair of pants makes my ass look best for Isabella?" was an uninvited, yet often occurrence.

 

There's also level of sobriety, which divides the overall product- of course, if he was blacked-out, the divisor would be 0. He wouldn't remember anything anyways.

 

The point is, after plugging in the necessities, Seung-Gil theoretically only has 10 years left to live.

And JJ looks far from being satisfied with his work.

 

The Canadian unfurls one of his gray jogging pants from his otherwise neat stack. "This isn't even in your size! You know skating gives great legwork, right? Don't hide the thighs- I never did." He gestures to the skin his loose jersey shorts exposes with a smirk.

 

Seung-Gil ignores him in favor of rubbing a blister on his foot.

You'd think after each in the threshold of how much he can handle JJ's antics, he'd cave or yell or.... something.

But at the end of that horrible rainbow turns out to be half-hearted passivity. Half-heated, horrible, depressing, consuming, disruptive passivity.

 

Because yes. Seung-Gil is a piece of work, but he's been blissfully and purposefully ignorant of that all until now.

 

He was seated on his bed's edge, eyeing JJ carefully less he pick apart his wardrobe too aggressively.  
A stack of clothes collected between the two; it contained articles of clothing deemed unworthy. The only reason Leroy hadn't just started a fire and threw them there one by one was because something might have sentimental value.

 

That's unlikely- Seung-Gil is not a sentimental person, but he appreciates the effort to not completely disrupt his personal space. But he'd never voice that aloud.

And of course, there's that one red shirt with the pit bull that he refuses to let JJ dispose of. It was the first thing he warned JJ about when his hands touched his cabinet's handles.

 

Would Phichit be as dissatisfied with his taste if given the chance to voice out his opinions?

The looming dread of killing this relationship before it even began haunted Seung-Gil. Even if he doesn't believe in ghosts, it was enough to rouse him from his "rest" that night and ask help from Leroy of all people.

 

The Korean sneaked a gulp of the beer that was available for the adults in the common room and threw out the rest. No evidence.  
The beer did nothing but make him feel light-headed; his nerves still buzzed anxiously and his palms are uncomfortably clammy. He felt like death on the way to Leroy's room.

But nope, JJ was on cloud fucking 9. He hollered so loud that Seung-Gil was terrified he'd wake someone up. But he couldn't chide him- he was the one asking for help. 

Sure, he had, is, and will give him hell for the admittance- but there would be no relationship to hide if he didn't pull his shit together.

 

Seung-Gil felt the bed dip. He turned to his side to find JJ un characteristically frustrated, fingers pinching the bridge of the nose.

"Seung,"

"Seung-Gil." He corrected, but JJ just continued unperturbed,

"I get that you're sort of pretty? Yeah? But how did you get Phichit to like you like... this?"

A latent defensiveness flared in the Korean's skin, "Clothes are replaceable and-"

"I don't mean that."

 

JJ huffs, a casual but forced smile turning the corners of his mouth heavenward. His eyes were tired, though. Seung-Gil imagines his are too- it's about midnight after all.

 

"You're an okay guy." The Canadian began, "But you're not... I mean..." It was unlike the Canadian to second-guess his words. That's how Seung-Gil knows exactly what he intended to convey.

"I'm not boyfriend material." Seung-Gil finishes his sentence for him.

JJ says nothing.

 

The Korean neglects the moisture collecting around his eyes, turning away brashly. "If it's too difficult for you, then-!"

JJ set his hand on Seung-Gil's knee- a reassuring gesture. Had it been any other case, the action would have granted a swift kick to the face.  
But tonight... tonight there's something in the air. That something somehow makes touches invited, makes words sound gentler, makes understanding easier.

It's a gross something.

 

The Korean's insides rioted- with anger, with anxiety, with so many ugly feeling that he was ready to vomit on the carpeted floor.  
For JJ of all people to take pity on him- it's a new low.

But it's for Phichit.  
So maybe it was worth it.

 

 

 

It was definitely not worth it.

 

The stems of the sunflowers in his hand are practically snapping with the force of Seung-Gil's grip on them.  
JJ had urged him to say something romantic like "they reminded me of your bright smile, so I had to get them", or "they're beautiful but not as beautiful as you", and other nonsense that Seung-Gil would only ever say at gunpoint.

He groaned internally- usually his frustration would manifest by running his hand through his hair, but with no such luck.  
The Korean stared at the floor forlornly, missing how his bangs would fall against his face and he could hide under his hair. Maybe the red coloring his cheeks would be less obvious then.

 

JJ's got a big family; he mentioned that when he talked to (rather, talked at) Seung-Gil that morning when they regrouped. After he things got awkward last night and they parted ways, the taller of the two said he'd come back around in the next morning.

The Canadian's intrusion into his daily routine was not something he had ever been glad for; yet but Seung-Gil supposes it's time to wake up now from this lonely limbo he suspends himself in day in and day out.

 

JJ Leroy is still a fucking jackass, nonetheless.  
Right now, the only thing that's irking him more than the unnecessary coddling that he was subjected to morning is the pull against his scalp.

The tiny ponytail that kept his black wisps away from his face made him look distinguished, he could admit. But distinguished doesn't mean comfortable.

It's like the curtain of his life has been pulled back and now he's just frightfully vulnerable in a black v-neck and gray joggers in front of Phichit Chulanont's door with a bundle of sunflowers in his right hand.

 

Fortitude, Seung-Gil understands, is not his most well-kept value.  
He's about to 14 seconds away from backing out.

 

The nerve to knock is taking its sweet time to build up, he observes. But the door swings open nonetheless, with a bustling Phichit almost knocking foreheads with him. "Oh!" he gasps.

Seung-Gil blinks dumbly, hating the way his heart stutters in his chest.

"You... Good morning," gray eyes travel down the Korean's form, preening, "Seung-Gil, you..."

"These are for you."

 

Finely groomed eyebrows quirk. Likely he hadn't notice he loud yellow flowers held in a vice at Seung-Gil's side up until then.  
"They're-!"

Seung-Gil clucks his tongue. Practiced words wait on his tongue.

"I'm sorry for yesterday."

Seung-Gil cannot, he repeats, cannot for the life of him stand to hear Phichit being cute and loving and grateful.  
Not right now.

He shoves the bouquet against the shorter's chest.

With nimble fingers, the Thai takes them from him, the skin on his digits brushing against Seung-Gil's.  
He wishes Phichit weren't wearing his fingerless gloves so he could feel the smooth palm of his hands.

"That's... so sweet..." His eyelashes flutter, no mascara on them today, Seung-Gil notes. He notices that he doesn't do that part of his beauty routine when he plans for a stressful practice, less the sweat melt his makeup and turn him into a striking image of Georgi Popovich at the Rostelcom Cup, or even Plisetsky from his Exhibition. 

With his athletic apparel and sports bag on his shoulder, Seung-Gil understands that he must be headed to the rink.

The shorter smiles at the blooms under his chin.

 

When Phichit looks up, there's a mischievous glint that flashes in those eyes with blink-it-and-you'll-miss quickness.  
"What's all this for then?" The voice laced with playfulness. Yet, there was a resounding quality that undermines it; Seung-Gil can't seem to identify what that is.

 

Upon later reflection, he understands that it was hopefulness that edged the curves of Phichit's sentences.

 

"I'm..." Seung-Gil begged himself to remember the speech he'd been practicing in the mirror moments prior. "I want t-"

"You know you don't have to apologize for anything, right? It was wrong of me to try and push you to situations you're uncomfortable with." Phichit worries his lip, bouquet now in a loving embrace in his arms.

 

Something snaps in Seung-Gil.

 

"No." Seung-Gil barks. He won't dare stand for Phichit blaming himself.  
"I was being unkind. You don't have to pretend it doesn't bother you."

"What makes you think that bothers me?"

"Because..." Hm. Phichit's got a point there.  
"It bothers everyone else."

 

"I'm not everyone else."

 

The space they occupy has somehow tensed; static blessed the atmosphere between bated breaths.

There's an urgency latent in it, like something needed to happen and happen now- and Seung-Gil's intuition had a good idea to what it was.

"I think I love you."


End file.
